


Joker Gets A Forklift License

by jokersforkliftlicense



Series: Joker Gets A/An X [1]
Category: Persona 5, forklifts
Genre: Other, forklift, forklift operation, forklifts-freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27896809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokersforkliftlicense/pseuds/jokersforkliftlicense
Summary: Joker from Persona 5 and the gang are faced with one final challenge before conquering the palace of nefarious American businessman, Giles - but they'll need to conquer another world first: the world of forklift operation.
Series: Joker Gets A/An X [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095356
Comments: 22
Kudos: 47





	1. The Cold Open

**Author's Note:**

> this is the stupidest idea i've ever had goodbye

"Ahahahahaha," came the cry of jubilation from the balcony. "Well done, phantom thieves. You've breached my penultimate defence!"

The gang was crowded into a room that looked eerily like a distribution warehouse. Shelves lined the walls covered in beige packages and envelopes, cast unsorted haphazardly about the place. Above them, on an elevated platform too high for them to reach, was their opponent: Shadow Giles, the sinister American businessman who was their current target. He clapped his hands together, his black tie jostling slightly as he did so. Joker raised a gloved finger at their antagonist.

"Enough games! Come down here so we can settle this already--" he shouted, before he was interrupted by a raised arm. 

"Oh, come now, Joker, how uncharacteristically boring of you," was the drawling reply. "It would be such a shame to just skip to the end; especially since you've come up to the final hurdle!" The phantom gang, sensing an ambush, moved into a defensive formation, but instead, their opponent snapped his fingers, disappearing in a puff of smoke. As he did so, however, a wall underneath the platform disappeared into the floor, revealing an equally impenetrable wall of hard, corrugated wooden boxes. As the team went to investigate, Morgana felt the hairs on his back stand on end. 

"This is it," he insisted in a low voice. "I can sense the Treasure just behind this wall. We just have to get past these crates!"

Getting past the crates proved to be an insurmountable challenge, however; no combination of fire magic or physical skills were sufficient to cause them to give even the smallest amount. Ten minutes later, the helplessness began to set in.

"Damn," mumbled Yusuke, his shoulders giving out. "If only we still had those detestable statues that turned us into rats, then we could just crawl through the gaps under those pallets." 

As the artist said the word "pallets", Joker found he was having the beginnings of an idea. A look of recognition glinted across his eyes, and he turned back to look at his team, newly invigorated in contrast to the blanket of ennui that had fallen like a pallor over the usually upbeat criminal gang. "Guys," he began, breathlessly, "does anyone here have a forklift license?"

A beat. Then, on a dime, every pair of eyes turned to Makoto, who it had been mutually if silently agreed was the only reliable one. Unfortunately, all she could do was shrug her shoulders and shake her head. "No," she mumbled apologetically, "it, um, never really occurred to me that I might need one." A sigh of disappointment, but there was nothing to be done. Joker nodded with determination, before finally turning to the group and calling a retreat.

\---

It had been a rough day. Not because the palace had proven to be much of a challenge - the shadows were actually on the far tamer side to those found in the minds of some of their previous targets - but because it had just been so lame. Most of their opponents had had interesting flaws that informed the topography of their cognitive spaces, or at the very least had neat characteristics that made the infiltration process a more puzzling, fulfilling challenge. In this case, though, their investigation had seemingly done nought but to demonstrate that Giles, the sinister American businessman, was actually just a bad person whose entire personality was being a bad person. 

This wasn't to say their assault was unjustified; he had been paying his workers squat and ignoring their horrific working conditions while diverting the vast majority of the company's profits to a tax haven on the Cayman Islands, making sure that neither the people who created his wealth nor the public services which relied upon it would see a penny of what they were truly owed. He needed to see the errors of his ways. Its just he was so... so...

"Boring," Ryuji observed, a listless quality to his voice. "This has got to be the most boring infiltration we've done so far. Can't we hit someone else?" 

"Now now, Ryuji," replied Yusuke, causing Ryuji to look away, chastened, "while yes, it's true this assault lacks the aesthetic qualities of some of our earlier targets, it is of no lesser import that Giles, sinister American businessman be stopped." He turned to their leader, and Joker nodded his head in agreement. "And we have a bigger problem than Skull being bored," Yusuke continued. "How are we supposed to tackle that wall of crates? No amount of force could compel it to give way." Everyone looked at their feet for a moment, except for their leader, who appeared to know exactly what to do. 

"You appear to know exactly what to do, leader," the artist said, as Joker snapped back to reality. The others looked at him expectantly, as he opened his mouth to speak. 

"Well," he began, "I think it's clear that the only way to shift those crates is to move them using that forklift we saw in the previous chamber." 

"Yeah," Ann intervened, "but we already established earlier that none of us have a forklift license."

"We can't use a forklift without a license, dude," Ryuji agreed. Everyone murmured their assent - operating a forklift without a license was illegal. The Phantom Thieves would not stoop to that level. 

"Agreed," Joker continued, "we can't." He looked at his comrades, waiting for the shoe to drop. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then, like a light switch being flipped on, their eyes widened. Ryuji was first. 

"For real?! Dude, you can't be serious," he intoned as solemnly as possible. "How hard is it to--"

"What other choice do we have?" Joker asked. "If we can't move those boxes, the Treasure will always remain just out of our reach. We need a forklift license, so I'm going to get one." Ryuji could merely stare, bemused, but Joker's face had taken on that expression it took on when he had already made a decision, and once he was there, there was no going back. He just sighed. The others seemed to have reached the same conclusion, and were now reorienting their questions in terms of "what are the practicalities of Joker getting a forklift license" instead of "how do we convince Joker that getting a forklift license is a stupid idea". Already though, Joker was scanning through his phone, the internet spitting up millions of results for 'get forklift license', including one, conveniently, within a thirty minute walk of the Cafe Leblanc. He held his phone out to the others for scrutiny.

"Hmm," Haru mumbled to herself. "I know that place. It's a warehouse that the company use sometimes. I didn't know they also offered forklift training." She was lost in thought; perhaps contemplating getting a forklift license of her own. 

"Well," Makoto sighed, finally. "I know I can't stop you. How much is it?" This was a question Joker hadn't contemplated. Money wasn't really an object for them, at least not since they raided the palace of Hubert Money, the inventor of money, but it was still worth knowing. He didn't want Sojiro to get too suspicious about quite how much he was spending. A quick scroll down on the website revealed the price tag-- seventy thousand yen!? To drive a forklift?! "Yikes." She scratched the back of her neck. "Well... duty calls, I suppose." 

So the Phantom Thieves were in agreement. There was a training slot open tomorrow, so they bit the bullet and dropped seventy grand from Sojiro's credit card - Futaba would replenish the fund after they'd sold all of the fancy gold bullion they'd stolen from Shadow Giles up to this point and hope he wouldn't notice the odd, warehouse-related transaction. They agreed that, until Joker had obtained a forklift license, there wasn't much more to do, so they spent the rest of the meeting screwing around before going their separate ways in the evening. 

That night, as Joker lay awake, Morgana lying asleep on the windowsill, he fidgeted. Aside from the Morgana-bus, he'd never driven a vehicle before, and certainly not in real life. A cold front of nerves swept over him; what if he couldn't manage it? What if he just didn't have it in him to operate a forklift? What would his team think of him if he failed them? He tried to quell the increased heart-rate in his chest, only for it to increase apace as his brain hyperfixated on all of the ways this new venture could possibly go wrong. What if he ran over Morgana and crushed his little cat body beneath the forklift's massive wheels? What if his palms, sweaty from fear, slipped off the levers and sent the vehicle crashing into a wall? What if--

"I think you're overreacting," Makoto replied. At the peak of his nervousness, he decided to call the one person in the team who, not to put too fine a point on it, was reliable. 

"Yeah, but what if though," was all Joker could manage. She was probably right, to be fair, but equally, what if, though?

"That's not... that's nothing. What you just said is nothing." 

"I mean... you're probably right, but you don't understand. The thought of seeing Morgana all flattened by a forklift is like--" One of Morgana's eyes, up until this point heavy-lidded in sleep, flashed open in a start. Joker looked apologetically in his direction as he continued. "It's like... I would feel awful, forever." 

"I'd also be dead," Morgana offered, sarcastically. Joker shut him up by scratching behind one of his ears. 

"Joker," Makoto intoned, seriously, apparently exhausted of patience. "You're not going to crush Morgana to death. They don't let cats into warehouses anyway, there's hygiene laws about that sort of thing. Now it's 2am, please go to sleep." With a low beep, the line was disconnected - but the dread in Joker's heart was still very real. 

There was nothing to be done; too much rode on the outcome, and they had only a few days left before their deadline. Joker, the leader of the Phantom Thieves, would have to learn how to operate a forklift. 


	2. The Day, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker goes to the warehouse to begin his training in forklift operation... but fate has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn joker from persona 5 do be operating a forklift rn

The warehouse loomed on the horizon, like a cold, concrete brick against the colour of the Tokyo skyline. Despite the warmth of the early morning air, Joker's hands shivered in anticipation; the same feeling he got when infiltrating a new place for the first time, or filling in tax documents. His walk, step by arduous step, brought him closer to the threshold, every click against the tarmac outside another tug on the cord of fate, bringing him inevitably to his final destination: the forklift training site. 

The phantom thief arrived five minutes early for his appointment, and after a brief talk with the receptionist found himself sat in the warehouse lobby, his feet tapping uncomfortably against the linoleum floor. There were no sounds in the room save for the clicking of the receptionist's keyboard as he clacked away at some report or another, the ticking of the clock in the corner, and the sound of roadworks around the corner. In fairness, describing that environment as having "no sounds" is actually totally inaccurate. In any event, time seemed to stop passing as Joker awaited his fate. 

As soon as the clock struck 10am, the double doors on the far side of the room swung open and out walked an underwhelming man in a high-viz jacket. His hair had thinned to what could only be described as a greying sheen, his wiry glasses sat cocked on the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his lip turned upwards at slightly more frequent intervals than one would really describe as human. He cast his gaze around the room before alighting on the kid in a grey longcoat twiddling his thumbs. 

"Ah, Mr..." he began, "eh... I can't pronounce this, so I'm not going to try. My name's Greg, come this way, please." With a sweeping spin, he turned on his heel and marched back out through the doors he had just materialised from. Still not really sure what had just happened, Joker shrugged, gathered his courage, and followed behind as closely as he could as his tutor marched ahead at pace into the main warehouse. "So tell, tell, what interested you in the art of forklift operation?" 

"I..." Joker started, not really having given much thought to his cover story. "Well, that is... a friend of mine is forklift certified, and so I have to, um..."

"Ah, an intense rivalry, is it? In forklift operating circles, that's a tale as old as time, my friend," Greg replied, wistfully. "In fact, the history of forklifts begins with a story just like that. The brothers James and Jeremy Forklift, inventors of the forklift, found their fraternal relationship entirely upturned by the sudden fortune that came with changing the world of warehouse logistics, and it wasn't until the winter of 1978 that..." Greg carried on, unabated and uninterruptible, as Joker simply tuned the words out, the background noise melting into a monotonal soundtrack to their march through the labyrinthine corridors of the building's main area. Five minutes later, they arrived at a bay of forklifts, all lined up in a row neatly and buffed into a glow. "...and with James Forklift's untimely death, Jeremy Forklift took full control of the intellectual property and made millions - but the ghost of his brother would haunt him for decades afterwards. He was never a truly whole man again. Anyway, that aside, it looks like we've arrived!"

As he stomped ahead to turn on one of the forklifts, Joker was shocked back into reality by the feeling of rumbling behind his back. He had taken his bag with him on instinct - he sort of just carried it around like it was stapled to him now - and the shuffling inside was, while not unusual in normal circumstances, deeply alarming now. 

"Can you at least give me an airhole?!" came the muffled cries from inside. Morgana must have got stuck in there when Joker had left the cafe. This was a problem; the only thing the Phantom Thieves held in even lower regard than driving a forklift without a license was violating warehouse hygiene and health and safety regulations. 

"What are you doing in there?!" Joker stage-whispered back, trying his best not to catch the attention of Greg as he wrestled with the ignition key. Morgana was defiant, and worse, loud. "And keep it down, could you? I don't want the warehouse people to know you're with me right now."

"We're at the warehouse?! Why are we there?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were in my bag?! You knew I was going today."

"I fell asleep, I'm sorry! Jeez, when I finally definitely turn back into a human I'm going to give you the pummelling of a lifetime--"

"So, are you ready to give it a try?" Greg called from the forklift. Joker panicked; he had to act fast to get Morgana out of his hair, or his forklift operation dreams would be crushed in an instant. Moving swiftly, he mumbled a mixture of an apology and a "stay there until I get back" to Morgana before unzipping a small airhole in the bag and throwing it into a far corner, eliciting an angry meow from the cat stuck inside, before marching in Greg's direction to hop onboard. He squeezed himself into the passenger seat, putting him uncomfortably close to his trainer, before Greg pushed the forward lever into position and sent the forklift shuddering into life. They were in motion! Greg did a few circuits of that area of the warehouse, pointing out various boxes stacked up on metal shelves and talking in detail about the supply chains behind them as Joker zoned out, enjoying the industrial scenery zipping by, before noticing that they had suddenly come to a stop. He must have zoned out pretty hard, because Greg was now waving a fanned hand in front of his face. "Hello? Are you still in there?" 

Joker blinked suddenly, and mumbled an apology. "Well, that's fine," Greg replied. "Anyway, it's your turn now. Hopefully you were paying attention." He hadn't been. "Let's switch seats and you can give it a try. It's fine if you don't pick it up immediately." The phantom thief, relieved by the amount of latitude for failure he had been explicitly granted, nodded in appreciation as the two got out of their seats and changed places. The driver's seat felt warm from Greg having used it a moment ago, he noticed - the man must sweat like a fountain, Joker's stream of consciousness thought, but he decided he would refrain from saying that out loud - but he pushed his back into the back of the chair as he tried to make himself comfortable. "Okay, so: first you need to turn the key to get the engine running." Hands trembling, the thief clicked the key into the on position, and felt a faint rumble underneath to indicate that the forklift had indeed been brought to life. "Good. Now, carefully, push forward on the lever here to move the forklift forward--"

The anxiety building in Joker's shoulders was too much, however, and a slight spasm sent the lever straight into its furthest extent. The phantom thief could just make out a look of animalistic terror in Greg's eyes before the entire world shifted around them, the forklift engine spinning up in an instant and sending the pair rocketing down the straightaway through the middle of the warehouse in the direction of the opposite wall. Joker was shocked into paralysis as he watched his life flash before his eyes; the palace infiltrations; the moments of emotional intimacy with the friends he had made since moving to Tokyo; the back-to-back episodes of Numberwang on television; he was about to lose it all. Time seemed to slow down as a single tear streaked down his face, death approaching in the form of a concrete wall with red warning tape on it and a sign that read "Days since accident: 39". 

Fate had other plans for the Trickster that day, however, as Greg desperately reached out and pulled the emergency stop lever, sending the forklift into a sudden, jarring stop. Joker's head was sent flying forward, bonking into the metal enclosure that held them both in place, as his life was narrowly saved. His teacher huffed, apparently relieved that he, too, had survived the encounter, before coughing uncomfortably. "Well... okay... that could have started better, but at least we got that out of your system. Let's give that another try." This time, Joker pushed the lever narrowly into the reverse position, putting a bit of distance between them and the wall that had nearly ended his rehabilitation early, in order to give them a larger turning circle to get them facing the other way. Once he wasn't moving at breakneck speed, he found manoeuvring the forklift fairly straightforward; it was similar to operating the Morgana-bus in the Metaverse, only with the added bonus of it didn't purr whenever he turned the ignition on. Maybe he should start bringing a forklift to Mementos, instead. 

"Impressive," Greg remarked warmly, as Joker, shaken confidence slowly increasing, wandered aimlessly around the warehouse, trying not to get in the way of people working. He figured they probably already had a negative opinion of him, given he had nearly destroyed one of the load-bearing walls in their workplace, and didn't want to give them any reason to dislike him further. "Well, you're progressing very well so far, I have to say. We'll put that episode earlier down to, uh, nerves. Just... don't do that again." The phantom thief placed a sweaty palm behind his neck and scratched awkwardly, but smiled. This was going to be easier than he thought: that forklift license was as good as his. "We've got a bit of time left," Greg continued. "Let's try moving some objects with the forklift, see how you manage that. Nothing heavy for the moment, though, we want to give you a chance to get used to the idea first." Joker nodded thoughtfully as Greg directed him back to the bay they had left at the start. 

Once they had parked, Joker caught himself glancing in the direction of his bag. It looked slightly more ruffled than he had left it, but at the same time, it looked like other people had dropped their bags there. It must have just got shunted around when other people had shown up. Maybe he wasn't the only forklift student there that day? He shrugged imperceptibly to himself and turned his attention back to Greg, who was explaining how to raise and lower the lifting mechanism of the forklift. Some experimentation revealed that the lever that controlled it didn't have a max speed of 'breakneck' like the accelerator, which was a relief; he didn't want to risk throwing his payload into the air while trying to carry it somewhere, as amusing as that might look. He started imagining throwing Akechi up and down with the forklift, the smile broadening on his face as he soared through the air warming Joker's heart, before realising that that isn't how physics works and he'd probably be rather badly hurt on impact. He shook his head, dismissing it.

"Well, let's start with moving a pallet." Greg gestured at a wooden object on the floor a little ways ahead. "Pallets are wooden planes designed to make carrying heavy objects with forklifts or pallet jacks easier. The history of pallets is quite interesting, actually, and they date back to--" Joker had had enough. He pushed forward on the accelerator lever, the shudder cutting Greg off mid-sentence, and approached the wooden pallet slowly. Coming to a stop just short, he lowered the forks down to just about level with it, and then shuddered slightly forward again until he thought he was just about right. Another tug on the fork lever confirmed his suspicions as the pallet rose up into the air and Greg's eyes lit up, the sight of the forklift in operation apparently the most beautiful thing he could imagine. Different strokes, Joker thought, smiling.

Once Greg was out of his reverie, he gestured at a corner on the far side of the warehouse. "If you could just go ahead and take this pallet around that corner there, then drop it off in the bay marked with yellow stripes, that would be a good test, I think," Greg thought aloud, apparently still slightly enraptured. "Then we'll take a break and we'll do the rest of the lesson before giving you your test." Joker nodded. Easy enough. With a push of the lever, they were in motion again, his teacher still smiling from ear to ear as the rubber of the wheels ground into the floor beneath them. It was nice that he was so interested in his line of work, the phantom thieves' leader's line of thought from earlier continued. To him, though, this whole lesson was just a means to an end. He wondered how Greg might feel if he knew that the incorruptible art of forklift operation were being used for such contentious work as the heart stealing he and his comrades were engaged in. As he thought this, he cast his mind back to the palace, to the immovable wall of crates that had separated them from seeing Giles, the insidious American businessman, brought to justice. What evil awaited them on the other side, he pondered. Did he truly want to know what waited beyond the limited use of his new skillset?

"You want to take corners a bit slower than that," Greg intoned as Joker got lost in thought, "the forklifts don't like being handled like that and-- oh my god, what on earth?!" 

This sudden dread launched Joker's mind back into the warehouse, the forklift trundling along at speed, as Greg's lifted arm pointed, finger outstretched, in the direction of the floor right in front of them. A black mass, wandering elegantly through the by-ways of the building. A fuzzy, black mass. Joker's eyes went wide and his face went pale when he realised he was moving too fast to stop in time. 

"Oh my god, we're going to hit the...!" Greg cried. 

'Morgana!' Joker cried desperately inside his head before everything went white. 


	3. The Day, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker deals with the apparently untimely death of one of his oldest companions as his quest for a forklift license continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> morgana at the warehouse
> 
> where he going?

A faint rumbling issued from underneath the forklift as Morgana's panicked form disappeared from view. Joker quickly tugged on the accelerator lever to brake, and at his command the forklift listed to a stop, the wheels squeaking gently against the ground beneath them. Urgency puncturing his heart, he threw himself from his seat to look underneath, hoping against hope that somehow his feline companion had survived the very fate he had feared Morgana had suffered the most. At least he could say he proved Makoto wrong, he thought, but immediately pushed the idea away, rejecting it on the principle that making sure Morgana wasn't dead was probably slightly more important than one-upping the student council president of his academy. 

When Morgana was nowhere to be seen, his mind quickly started making excuses. "Morgana disappeared when I was going to leave the warehouse," he would tell the Phantom Thieves at their next meeting. "Cats die all the time," he would say when his death was revealed. "I didn't mean for him to be there, it was an accident," he would insist when called out for crushing him underneath a forklift. "Ryuji, please stop slamming my head into the desk," he would beg when his comrades avenged Morgana's untimely demise. Even in his own mind, none of his desperate efforts at redemption worked. This, he was sure, was the end. A sigh escaped him. 

"Maybe now is a good time for us to take a break," Greg mumbled, uncomfortably, seeing the look of pain cutting into Joker's soul. "I'll take care of the pallet and the forklift for now." With that, Greg shifted over to Joker's seat, pushed the accelerator lever forward, and the forklift pattered reliably off into the distance, the squeakiness of the wheels dimming a little more with every metre the driver created between them, before finally he disappeared into the bowels of the warehouse's catacombs. Another sigh breathed itself out from between the phantom thief's lips as he began his death march back to the lobby he had started in. He needed a cool glass of water and a minute to figure out how to sell this turn of events to his friends. 

A tale of self-sacrifice in the line of duty, he thought. Morgana bravely met his end in the course of Joker getting his forklift certification, knowing he would die so that Giles, malevolent American businessman, might finally see justice done. That would appeal to his team's sense of righteousness, right? No, that's stupid. He bit his lip so hard the skin might break, and he was just tasting blood when he saw the cat's head poking playfully out of his bag, his eyes glaring into him. Suddenly, his teeth relinquished their grip on his mouth and he rushed over at breakneck speed to investigate. 

"Morgana?" he whispered, making sure not to draw attention to himself as he lifted the bag up off the ground to get a closer look at his furry friend. "How are you... I thought... I thought I'd..."

"You thought you'd run me over?" the cat replied, drolly. Joker had to squint, but he was fairly sure that Morgana had rolled his eyes. "It takes more than an incompetent forklift driver to kill me, I'll have you know. I'm a dashing phantom thief."

"You definitely dashed, that's for sure," the leader offered. "I was so sure you were done for when you disappeared under that forklift. I should have been... I was so engrossed in thinking about the mission that I just... I didn't think..."

"You need to pay more attention to the road, Joker," Morgana insisted, not angrily but with a righteous indignation. The cat's brows furrowed in disdain, digging shards of ice into the human thief's soul. Joker knew he was right. "What if you're operating a forklift for real? What if Ryuji was in front of you instead? You and I both know he doesn't have the reaction speed to not get run over by you if you're not being careful. He's an idiot." The phantom thief leader was now slightly less on board. "That fool would get himself killed immediately around you driving a forklift right now. I worry about him crossing roads on his own, to be quite frank, I--" With that, Joker had heard enough, placing a hand on Morgana's fuzzy head and shoving it into the bag as the cat spat fury at him. "Hey! You can't just dismiss me like a chat message--"

Speaking of chat messages, it seemed that the Stealing Memes for Phantom Teens chat had been going off while he had been having his little jaunt around the warehouse. Ignoring the cries of protest from inside his bag, he tapped the chat icon.

**Yusuke:** has our dear leader obtained the forklift certification yet? 

**Futaba:** dude it's like 10:10 am, he only just started, chill

**Ryuji:** [alt text: a low-resolution picture of a pigeon on a beach. The caption, in Impact font, reads, "I don't want to get political, but/oatmeal]

**Futaba:** lol true tho

**Makoto:** could someone explain this to me, I'm picking up pop culture references more since I joined you but this one is throwing me

**Ann:** don't get them started

**Futaba:** hey guys, peter griffin from family guy here to explain the meme. the reason this is funny is

Joker stopped reading there. Clearly he hadn't missed anything useful from earlier this morning. He span down the chat a bit, skipping past Futaba's extensive explanation of level twelve internet context for Makoto's sake to the conversation that had taken place a few minutes ago. 

**Futaba:** hopefully that makes sense

**Makoto:** i guess

**Makoto:** i'm not sure I understand the relevance of this "yakko warner" character, but otherwise it's just like surrealism, right? 

**Yusuke:** fascinating. I must paint this sense of cultural disconnect into reality

**Ryuji:** Anyway, now we've got that out of the way

**Ryuji:** I think we have a problem

**Ryuji:** bashingtonpost.com/p/923502358

**Ryuji:** giles, unforgivable american businessman, looks like he's moving the timeline ahead, I don't think we have long left

**Ryuji:** we gotta hit that palace today

**Haru:** today? is that even possible

Joker clicked through the link, and sure enough: Giles, dishonourable American businessman, had announced to the press he would be releasing his company's biggest new project ahead of schedule - tomorrow. They thought they had more time - but now they had to send the calling card and steal the Treasure, all that afternoon.

**Joker:** I'm sorry guys but I don't think I'll be finished getting my forklift license until at least 1

**Ryuji** **:** will that be enough time to get through the crate wall?

**Joker:** I don't know

**Joker:** I don't know how many crates there'll be

**Ryuji:** we're just going to have to hope

**Ryuji:** so anyway not wanting to get political but like

**Ryuji:** what is cheese

**Yusuke:** Cheese is a dairy product, derived from milk and produced in wide ranges of flavors, textures and forms by coagulation of the milk protein casein. It compris

Joker turned his phone off. While it had always impressed him that his comrades were so able to switch from being serious to talking complete nonsense on the turn of a dime, in this instance it did nothing to ease the tumult he felt in his soul. He had finished trudging into the lobby, the now more subdued Morgana in tow, as they sat down on one of the couches, Joker letting his weary feet slide a little further away from him along the linoleum panels beneath. Morgana poked his tiny cat nose out.

"I overheard you talking to yourself just now," the cat whispered. "We don't have much time, do we?"

"Eighteen hours, I think. At the most," was all Joker could say through gritted teeth.

"I see..." came the thoughtful reply. "Well, we've come up against tougher odds than this before, leader! You just need to ace that exam so we can get out of here and take down Giles, horrific American businessman. I believe in you." Morgana's belief in Joker did not do much to lift his spirits, though; he still felt rough, and his hope felt like it had been drawn taut like melting cheese that was about to drip away. Nevertheless, he did his best to grip onto it, even though the yellow mess was coagulating around his fingers and making his skin feel really icky and sticky - metaphorically, of course. There was no real melted cheese. It's just an analogy. 

"Okay, let's get back to it," came Greg's call. He looked Joker in the face and was reassured to see that he no longer look like his soul had evaporated, a tension that had existed in the musculature of his own face relieving itself. "We're just going to try lifting heavier objects, and then we'll just cut straight to the chase and do the actual test. There's not much more to learn." The leader of the Phantom Thieves nodded with as close to determination as he could muster in what was proving to be a life-or-death situation; he had assumed, if worst had come, he could have dumped another cache of palace money on it to try again, but he would have to nail it, and nail it quick, if they were to have any hope of defeating Giles, miserly American businessman. 

"Take me with you, this time," Morgana uttered quietly. Joker was about to object, then remembered he had just spent a good amount of time feeling angsty over nearly crushing him to death and decided it was worth running the risk. 

\- - -

This was it. Joker had only spent a few hours at the forklift operation training center, but to him it had felt like an eternity, his every lesson one step closer to crunch time. Now, Greg stood expectantly on the greying floor as Joker sat, a bag of nerves, in the driver’s seat of the forklift.   
  


“Alright, now this is easy,” Greg said. “To pass the exam and get your forklift license, all you need to do is move these three crates from here to the marked bays on the other side of the warehouse.”   
  


“You can do this,” Morgana whispered from inside the bag on the passenger seat. “Just remember everything you learned.” All this did was evoke images of the cat being crushed beneath the forklift, which didn’t do much to alleviate the tension he was experiencing.   
  


“Just... stay in the bag,” Joker mumbled. “I’d rather not run you over again.” With that, he reached a hand out to the ignition key and twisted the engine into life, a faint rumbling picking up underneath them as the test got underway. With a push of the lever, the phantom thieves were in motion, and though things were a bit shaky at first, they gradually got into the swing of it. The boxes were fairly heavy, but the forklift made light work of them, transporting them easily to their destination. A few minutes in, the team had already made off with two of the three crates they needed to complete the test, and Joker felt his soul relax as they approached the home stretch. He should have been more cautious, though, because as he leaned over to push the accelerator lever, his grip failed him and sent it to its maximum extent. Again.

A pale countenance shrouded Joker in this moment. With no Greg, his death was now certain; for the second time in a few hours, his life made to begin flashing before his eyes, his body struck into paralysis as grey perdition approached.

”Joker!” came a cry. “Snap out of it!”

Morgana’s shriek snapped Joker out of his terrified reverie. He had faced greater danger than this before! This was nothing - and his teammate was relying on him to not smush them at great speed into a thin paste against a wall. With renewed vigour and a confidence that had until now eluded Joker, he reached a decisive hand out and hauled the emergency stop lever, slamming the brakes - but they weren’t out of the woods yet. They were still carrying a heavy payload, and the sudden force from them stopping sent the forklift leaning precariously forward, threatening to overturn entirely. The phantom thieves gritted their teeth, leaning back as far as they could - if they went over, the test would be a failure, and all would be lost.

The pair sat there, as though suspended in the air, as the floor looked invitingly up at them, as if willing them to accept failure. It could be so easy, it said, it could all be over. No more thievery. No more forklifts. No more stress, or fear, or worry, just the cold floor of a warehouse. The phantom thieves resisted its siren call, however, pushing themselves back as far as they could manage to counterbalance the tilting of the vehicle, and sure enough they felt the forklift gradually falling back in the other direction before, after an eternity, the rubber wheels touched down with a faint squeak.   
  
The team let out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding before looking at each other with a gaze that said they would never speak of this again. Then, with a sudden flicker of recognition, they both looked over their shoulders to Greg, who was waiting patiently for them in the forklift bay. He wasn’t paying attention, though, he seemed engrossed in explaining something to a colleague. Probably the illustrious history of decentralised logistics, or something. In any case, it did not appear that he had seen their embarrassing slip, and taking advantage of his distraction, they hit the accelerator and slipped away to place the final crate, avoiding drawing the attention of the employees kicking around as best they could.

“Well, I’d say that was an unmitigated success,” Greg intoned, a tinge of pride in his voice. “It’s always an honour... an honour to pass on the beautiful art of forklift operation to the next generation. I’m sorry,” Greg continued, wiping a tear forming at the corner of his eye, “I always promise I’ll keep it together next time and I... I never manage it.” He coughs, partially to clear his throat and partially to give him a means of changing the topic. “Well, you pass, congratulations. Just stand there for a moment.” Joker felt an elevated sense of fear, like he felt before an ambush, and instinctively his feet moved themselves into an offensive position; but Greg merely withdrew a Polaroid camera and snapped a shot of him. Greg looked at the resulting photo with some satisfaction. “Just need to go print your license card. I’ll be right back.” Joker and Morgana, who had poked his tiny face out of the bag, shared a look of confusion. The leader himself, for his part, felt a rising sense of dread in the pit of his soul, the fear of an ambush not entirely alleviated.   
  


A few minutes later, Greg returned, beaming from ear to ear. The joy was infectious, and Joker allowed himself a slight smile before he saw the reason for the joviality. The teacher put his hand out, and in his palm was a plastic card about the dimensions of a driving license. On it was Joker’s name, the words “Forklift Operating License”, and the photo he had just had taken of him, and on seeing it his heart sank. His hair was thrown about the image, capturing the moment of surprise as the camera snapped his visage, his mouth contorted like a snake and a thin string of saliva visible between his lips as he swallowed a gasp. One of his eyes was closed, the other half lidded like he had just been woken from an ugly sleep. All in all, it was perhaps the worst photo of him that had ever existed. Morgana rattled uncontrollably inside his bag as he tried to stifle his laughter. That would be a hard meeting when they convened later; and yet, Joker couldn’t bring himself to bring down Greg, who had his hands on his hips, an overwhelming pride in his eyes.

”Thank you, Greg,” Joker managed, forcing a smile. Greg just nodded, his own grin undiminished.

”I was just doing my job,” came the reply. “Anyway, before you go, just a few thoughts about the future of forklift operation. It’s always important to stay abreast of key developments, and there’s a number of interesting conventions on the subject. Just last year I attended—“

Already Joker was out on the streets of Yongen-Jaya, though, forklift operation license and cat in tow. A hope rose in his soul as the license card carved into his skin slightly in his tight grip. All that remained: to convene the Thieves and prepare for the final assault.   
  


But little did he know, fate had one last, cruel, forklift-related trick up it’s sleeve. 


	4. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker and the gang prepare to commence the final infiltration of Giles, sinister American businessman's palace.

"My god..." mumbled Ryuji, shocked into silence.

"This is..." Ann began, words failing her before she was able to get her sentence out. 

"Horrifying," Yusuke offered, muted. Ann offered a grim nod in his direction. 

An almost deathly pallor had come over the Phantom Thieves as they reconvened. They had met to discuss the new infiltration plan now that their deadline to take out Giles, evil American businessman, had been pushed forward. Time was of the essence, but developments had punctured their enthusiasm, sapping their drive as surely as their belief in the existence of a higher power. 

"This... this is the most tragic development possible, leader," Yusuke continued, completing Ann's thought from earlier. He took in a gulp; the entire room, frozen as though in carbonite, could do nought but stare at the grim tidings. Sat on the middle of the table in the hideout, slightly askew in a sea of dust, was Joker's forklift license, the terrible photo Greg had taken earlier shining in the early afternoon sun. "There is nothing aesthetically pleasing about this composure. The angles are all wrong, the lighting was barely considered. This is an affront to the art of photography, and I have no choice but to destroy it." With that, he leaned over the table and snatched it up, preparing to throw it out of Joker's window. Only because of a wide-eyed Makoto's quick reaction times was the license swiftly snatched from his fumbling grip and passed back to the other side of the table, whereupon Ryuji stole it to take in the embarrassing picture in more detail. 

"It's like..." he began. "It's like someone pummelled you in the face just after telling you your entire family had been killed in a boating accident, and then took a photo of you just as you were about to throw up." Joker cringed at the description, his heart sinking a little more every time one of his team pointed out - not to put too fine a point on it - quite how much of a travesty of justice the very existence of that photograph was. No words exist in the English lexicon to describe it. "Still..." he grumbled. "At least you have this now. That means we can start the infiltration!"

"Not so fast, idiot. Moron." Morgana piped up, unspooling himself from his position curled up on one of the nearby shelves. "Stupid. We have to send the calling card first. We were planning to send it later, but with developments being what they are, we've got to move quick. You absolute buffoon." Ryuji made to respond, probably with something aggrieved in the light of this frankly unjustified verbal abuse, but Haru got there first. 

"How do we get it to him?" she asked, the usual lilt to her voice markedly absent in the face of literally everything that had happened that day. "Can we get him to see it in time and then get into the palace with the time we have left?" 

"Well, I gave that some thought while you were getting your forklift license," Futaba said, turning to Joker who was sat at the table, face still red from earlier. "Why don't we just hack his website? I did that before, it's not that hard." The other thieves contemplated the idea. It would certainly be faster than sending him one in physical form, and it had a certain degree of panache to it - Giles was not an unimportant man, and the press would certainly pick up on it, meaning it wouldn't escape his attention, at least eventually. Would he pick up on it in time though?

"I don't know..." Joker began, finally, his voice still cracking a little. "What guarantee do we have that he will even see it? Plus, what if we get caught? I know you're usually pretty good at hiding your tracks, but after a while our luck might run out--"

"Oh, sorry, I stopped listening after I finished talking," Futaba replied, tapping away at her keyboard. "I did it like, thirty seconds ago already." Everyone stood, shocked, except for Yusuke, who seemed entirely unsurprised by this turn of events. Instead, he whipped his phone out of his pocket and opened the news app - and, sure enough, there was the sign of Futaba's handiwork: the headline, 'Phantom Thieves strike objectively worst businessman'. "Hardly seems like a fair headline," Yusuke pondered to himself. 

"It definitely is," Ryuji replied. "He's absolutely the worst," offered Makoto. "He probably killed a dog, if I'm being honest. I don't have any evidence, he just seems like the type," was Ann's rejoinder. Yusuke shrugged. "I guess you're right," he continued. "Leader. I suggest we reconvene in a couple of hours, that way we'll know he's seen this and the Treasure will materialise." There were no objections. There wasn't much point in anyone going home, though, given the amount of time that remained, so while Joker - tapped out from forklift operation - napped on the couch, the other thieves paced around the room, wondering how to pass the time.

Eventually, their pacing irritated Joker's second-in-command, the only reliable person in the room.

"Look," Makoto said, "there must be something you can do other than pacing so loudly while I'm trying to read?" She gestured at the front cover of her book, "Capital Accountancy: A Comprehensive Introduction". Her recent interest in becoming an accountant had struck them as odd, it had to be said, but that discussion was outside the scope of them trying not to be bored. Ryuji shrugged. Yusuke looked at his feet. Haru scratched the back of her neck. Futaba, not sure how to handle the confrontation, vaulted the guardrail at the back of the room and fell down the stairs. 

"Should one of us go check on her?" Ryuji asked, but before anyone could reply, they heard the sound of scuttling downstairs followed by the front door bell ringing - she was fine. As this happened, Ann looked as though she were struck by a moment of inspiration. 

"I have an idea!" She half-ran to Joker's shelving unit covered in dust and old books and hauled an off-colour box out. The front label said "Bingus: The only board game that". Ryuji let out a sharp groan as Yusuke and Haru's eyes lit up. "No fair," Ryuji replied, "you always win at Bingus, you play it all the time."

Unfortunately for Ryuji, he was outvoted, all nine panels of the game board were lain out on the floor as Makoto watched over Ann's head, internally resolving to keep half an eye on them to make sure they didn't set anything on fire. As she went back to her reading, she overheard bits and pieces of conversation: 

"Okay, has everyone rolled to go first? Alright, let me just break out the calculator here... does anyone have a factor of--"  
"What? I have to go back twelve spaces because I forgot to get the Springus card six turns ago? This sucks!"  
"Oh, Yusuke, you have all of the Gringus tokens! You can trade all of them in for a spin of the Big Wheel!"

Finally, Ryuji stood up, exasperated, throwing his three pawns at the wall. "This game sucks anyway," he shouted, before sitting on the windowsill and watching, in a sulk. Haru and Yusuke meanwhile appeared to be having the time of their lives - but they were already down eighty points and Ann's victory was certain. 

Joker had been woken up by Ryuji's shouting, though, and when he looked at his phone he realised three hours had already gone by since he'd been asleep. They were already behind! Springing to his feet, he accidentally landed in the middle of the board, sending playing pieces, cards, spinners, pulleys, levers, books and a single, priceless vase flying in all directions, much to Ann's visible despair. "I was winning!" she cried, the usual playful tone of her voice having given way to a low growl of guttural pain. 

"There's no time for that!" Joker shouted, offering his teammates a hand as they hauled themselves to their feet. "We have to go to the palace!" As they made to leave, Joker turned back to Ann and said, "that being said, you do win all the time, so--"


	5. The end

I forget how this was meant to end, so let's just say Joker died on the way back to his home planet


End file.
